petals drifted from her hand like falling snow. He had promised he would call after the sale. She wondered if it wouldn’t be better if he didn’t. She couldn’t say why, except that she was afraid. But afraid of what?
The wind stirred, nudged her gently at first, then whipped the full skirt of her dress about her knees, and tangled in her hair. She was glad of the diversion as she hurried to the piazza. She was almost at the first step when a melodic gong summoned her to the garden gate.
“Now who?” she questioned as she retraced her steps over the patterned brick walk. Not a delivery, certainly. Bouquets and gifts wishing her well with the sale would’ve arrived days ago and at the gallery, not here. Friends and customers had already called in droves, afterward, celebrating her success, until even the most obtuse realized she needed rest and time to herself. Graciously they’d given her exactly that. Time and rest.
So one had decided it was time her self-imposed exile be ended.
Annabelle, of course. Only she would risk a drenching on such a Quixotic mission. Nicole smiled as she imagined the shapely little woman struggling with her voluminous skirt in the wind and weather. But not too hard. Annabelle believed with all her heart that a glimpse of a well-turned ankle, or thigh and maybe a bit of sexy lace was good for the soul. Hers, and what ever kindred souls were nearby. Masculine souls, naturally.
Nicole’s amusement lingered as she hurried down the walk that narrowed to a single lane as it neared the street. She hadn’t realized before, but, given the turn of her thoughts, Annabelle was exactly what she needed. It was impossible to be moody, or sad or even afraid when she was near.
Lightning flickered overhead. One small flash across a darkened sky, and then another. But long enough to burn the image of her caller into her mind and send it reeling again into the past.
Stopping abruptly a pace away from the gate, Nicole grasped an iron spire as she stared through it to the sidewalk. With graceful spirals and swirls imbued with the strength created by a master ironworker a century before, the gate offered physical protection, but no visual restraint. The man who waited beyond it was clearly visible and unmistakably as handsome as she remembered.
When he smiled at her she was fifteen all over again. With a pounding heart and a tongue that struggled for words.
“Jeb,” she managed to say at last. “I didn’t expect you.” Then, foolishly, “You didn’t call.”
“No.” He shook his head. There were creases across his forehead, from the sun. They weren’t there before.
“What are you doing here?” She hated sounding for all the world as if she were still a gawky kid.
“A spur-of-the-moment impulse.” Jeb’s gaze swept over her windblown hair, the uncertain smile, the simple dress that left her shoulders bare and hid the cleft of her breasts with lace. His gaze moved on, past her to the garden and the shadowed piazza. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Interrupting?” Nicole frowned and brushed a tangle of bangs from her eyes. “No. Of course not. I’m alone. I, uh...would you like to come in?” She was babbling.
Grimly stepping to the gate, with a twist of the wrist she disarmed the lock and drew it back. “Please.” She gestured as a sharp gust sent a crape myrtle swaying and scattered scarlet petals over the grass. “Come in before you’re soaked.”
Jeb hadn’t missed the frown, nor the hesitance in her voice. “A little rain won’t hurt me, so maybe another time would be better.”
If she agreed, taking the excuse he offered, he would have to find another way in. A secret way.
But she didn’t take the excuse. Instead, she caught up his hand, tugged him inside. “Don’t be silly. I was distracted, that’s all. I’m glad you’ve come. I think it’s good that you have.”
Jeb’s eyes narrowed, suspicion skittered like a serrated knife over raw nerves. But when he spoke his tone was a teasing drawl at odds with the truth. “Do you now?”
“Yes, I do.”
A thumb and forefinger at her chin lifted her face to his. He’d looked into this face countless times in the past weeks. He’d seen her smile and laugh. He’d seen her frown. Once, when she’d found a kitten washed on shore from God knew where, he could’ve sworn he saw her cry. He thought he knew every mood, but he’d never seen her as she was now. Solemn, restive, her eyes fathomless.
Was it fear he saw? Excitement? Danger?
Did Tony Callison wait beyond the gate for him? For both of them?
“Why, Nicky?” he asked, using the name only he had used in the days when they were friends. When he hadn’t watched her for any nuance of guilt or warning. When, as now, he’d seen only innocence.
Absently he stroked her chin, a knuckle gliding over skin like pearls. “Tell me,” he insisted in a voice as low as a whisper. “Tell me why you’re glad I’ve come.”
“Because...” Nicole clenched her teeth, holding back words he mustn’t hear. She needed to think, needed to be rational. But she couldn’t. Not when he looked at her with such burning intensity that she felt he was trying to see into her soul. Not when he touched her, and his touch was madness.
With a shiver she barely hid, she moved away, and a semblance of reason returned. She couldn’t tell him that after spending a weekend hiding from herself and from him, she’d discovered with one glance that hiding was futile. She couldn’t tell him that he’d been the love of her young life, and when he left, he’d taken her heart with him. She couldn’t in a lifetime tell him how much she’d hurt, and how long.
She couldn’t tell him. She’d thought for years that it was all behind her, but now, she wasn’t sure. She knew now what she’d been afraid of. What frightened her still—that she would love him again, or that she’d never stopped, and might not survive losing him again.
She couldn’t tell him she was glad when she saw him at her gate, because hiding was truly not her way. She was a fighter. No matter how fierce or how frightening, she’d learned to face her problems. Those she couldn’t conquer, she lived with in peace.
She couldn’t tell him that when he smiled at her, she wondered if there would ever be peace in her life again.
No, she couldn’t tell him.
Drawing a long breath, with a wobbly smile, she took his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, because you were the best friend I ever had, and I’ve missed you.”
She didn’t wait for a reply as she led him down the walk.
With his hand in hers, Jeb went warily with her to her home. Hoping she was as innocent as she seemed, but brutally conscious it could mean his life, if she weren’t.
There was caution in every guarded step he took, his darting gaze probing, seeking, finding nothing. The courtyard was small and open and, even filled with plants, it offered no place to hide. Like the courtyard, the piazza was capable of no surprises. The house, a Charleston single, so called because its rooms were arranged in a single row with one opening into the next, was a different matter.
Guardedly, hand itching for the pistol holstered at his ankle, he stepped into the welcoming cool of the first room. The door, another creation of wood and leaded
